


The Loneliest Road in America

by Moorishflower



Series: Fifty AUs [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-21
Updated: 2011-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-23 22:37:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>US Route 50 is called the loneliest road in America. Not so lonely, though, if you pick up hitchhikers. For the prompt "Sam/Gabriel; AU; Sam is on a road trip to visit his brother, along the way he encounters Gabriel."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Loneliest Road in America

Sam loves California. He loves the sun and the beaches, and he loves L.A., and all the awesome food, and sometimes he even loves the tourists, when they aren’t being too obnoxious. There has never been a moment where he’s regretted his decision to accept the scholarship to Stanford, though he sometimes feels a pang of sorrow that he couldn’t convince his brother to come with him. Dean, who still lives in Kansas, who probably never left that tiny, run-down house that their father bought after mom died. Dean, who got his GED in record time but never bothered to go to college, who still fixes cars for a living (at least, according to the letters he sends).

Sam misses his brother. Misses him horribly. He thinks it’s a combination of that, post-graduation blues, and lingering insanity over being dumped by Jessica that has him packed and ready to go not even two weeks after he’s handed his diploma.

Sam’s not a driver. He’s never gone on a roadtrip before (at least, not one _he’s_ initiated, rather than the ‘drives’ his father used to take them one when they were kids), and he doesn’t really know what to bring, so he just throws _everything_ into the trunk of his car. It’s not like his brother’s Impala; it’s a little white Honda with next to no trunk space, and it creaks threateningly under the weight of all the junk he’s put in it. Clothes are smushed up against cans of vegetables and soup, toilet paper shares a box with matches and NyQuil…anyone looking at his car would think he was moving, not just going for a bit of a trip.

He wants to be prepared, though. Years with his father had taught him that absolutely anything can happen, _anything_. Especially when you’re away from home.

And who knows? Maybe Dean will see how helpless he is when it comes to a simple roadtrip, and he’ll take pity on Sam and come out to California. Maybe he’ll even go to college, get a degree. That’d be nice. Sam’s not about to ask his brother to share a house and a white picket fence with him, but…having him close would make them both happier, he thinks.

Or maybe it’s just the ‘I can’t believe she left me’ insanity still talking. Maybe the whole thing is an awful pipe dream.

Sam heads out the next day anyways. Fuck pipe dreams. He’s going to make this one come true.

Getting out of California is a nightmare right up until he gets close to the state line. The traffic is horrendous, but he doesn’t really notice _how_ bad it is until, suddenly, it isn’t there anymore. He’s only been in California for a couple of years, but he’s surprised by how quickly he got used to the smell of the air, the sound of cars, the chatter of people. Now that it’s gone – or, at the very least, greatly diminished – he feels a tension inside of him ease up. He still loves California, but he thinks that, sometimes, you just need to get away from where you live, or else you start to hate it.

His phone tells him that the drive will only take a day or so, but Sam’s in no hurry. Dean isn’t going anywhere, after all, and the whole point behind this is not just to see his brother, but to also enjoy some time away from memories of college, and of Jessica. It’s a vacation from his own life, essentially, and so he drives along back roads that take him twenty miles out of his way, and stops to eat at diners with interesting names. He eats a bacon cheeseburger in Dean’s honor, sleeps on pillows that smell like detergent and nothing else, and, when he gets tired of driving, he parks by the side of the road and naps.

On the edge of Nevada, he stops at a gas station in order to grab a Gatorade and some fuel, and that’s when Sam sees him.

A hitchhiker.

He’s sure there are plenty of people who’ll tell him that it’s not like the old days, that you can’t hitch a ride across state lines anymore unless you’re looking to get kidnapped and dumped in a ditch, but that doesn’t stop the stupid and the desperate. Sam’s seen a handful of hitchhikers on his trip so far, but all of them have looked well-stocked, prepared…like they’re doing it for the thrill, not for the utility of it it.

This guy, though, is wearing a shirt with a rip in the side, and shoes with holes in them, and…and is that _blood_? He’s wearing a jacket, too, even in this ungodly heat, so Sam can’t really tell.

He should call an ambulance, or maybe the police. That’s what he _should_ do. Then again, he also probably should have stayed in California. Got a job, saved up some money.

Plus, he’s got a full tank of gas and a strawberry-lemonade Gatorade. Nothing can go wrong.

He rolls down his window and sticks his head out, motioning for the hitchhiker to come closer. After a moment of hesitation, the guy shuffles towards Sam’s shitty little Honda, ducking his head in order to peer inside. Probably trying to make sure that Sam doesn’t have guns in the back seat, or cocaine, or something equally as unsavory.

“You need a ride?”

The guy shrugs. “Depends. You offering?”

“So long as you’re not a serial killer and you’re heading towards Kansas, then yeah. Hop in.”

The guy grins, a quick, easy flash of teeth that sets Sam’s mind at ease even though that’s probably unwise, and then he pulls open the passenger side door and slides inside. Sam hurries to move an empty In-N-Out bag out of the way, and the guy sinks down with a heartfelt groan that speaks to sore feet and aching backs everywhere.

Sam sticks out his hand, and the guy blinks at him. “Sam Winchester.”

“Gabriel. Gabriel Grace. Nice to meet you.” His hand in Sam’s seems very small, but also very warm. He doesn’t hesitate to pump Sam’s arm, and he likes that. He’s this small, wiry looking sort of guy, but there’s a fierce set to his eyes and mouth, and it reminds Sam a little bit of Dean.

He also smells like dust and gas station pizza. Sam resolves to buy the guy a proper meal, get his Good Samaritan deed of the day over and done with.

He pulls his keys from his pocket, jingling them a little. “Well, Gabriel, here’s hoping we don’t murder each other over the radio.”

Gabriel snorts, and, grinning, Sam pulls out of the parking lot and back onto the highway, heading east.

~

Sam makes sure that they check into a motel the first night, rather than sleeping in his car, like he’d been planning. He tells himself that Gabriel is good for forcing him to make himself comfortable, if nothing else, and the guy lights up like a Christmas tree when Sam tells him he can have the shower first. It feels good to help people, to give someone like Gabriel a break, and Sam settles in for some serious late night television watching. Years of living with his father, followed by years of intensive studying, have left him with a distinctly night owlish personality. He’s really got no one but himself to blame at this point, though, so he’s not pissed about it. It just means that he gets to be privy to what other people look like when they’re deeply asleep.

Jessica, for instance, hadn’t snored, but she’d made these little whuffling noises with her mouth, like a rabbit or something. Sam had found it adorable once, but now, looking back on it, he just thinks it was kind of annoying.

Gabriel, on the other hand, sleeps like the dead. He sprawls on his stomach, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed and with his face pressed hard against his pillow, and he barely makes any sound at all. Sam has to mute the television just to make sure that Gabriel is still breathing…

That is, until Gabriel starts crying.

It’s not full-blown sobbing or anything. His face is barely even wet, but he’s making these harsh, choked-off whimpering noises, and Sam can’t just…he can’t just turn the volume up on the television and ignore it, not when Gabriel is only like, two feet away, not when the guy is so _nice_. They talked the entire way to the motel, and Sam hasn’t learned many substantial things about the guy (he knows he’s from Oregon, for one, but not how he ended up in Nevada, nor why), but he knows that Gabriel likes classic rock as much as Dean does, but he also likes – weirdly enough – classical music and acoustic stuff, and Sam had spent a good fifteen minutes geeking out with him over the newest Iron  & Wine album. He likes animals, but doesn’t have any pets, and he’s got siblings, though Sam doesn’t know how many or if they’re brothers, or sisters, or both, and…and damnit, he’s a _person_ , not just some trash Sam picked up off the side of the road.

Which is why he finds himself turning the volume way down low and then kneeling at the side of Gabriel’s bed, reaching out to cautiously touch his shoulder. “Gabriel? Wake up, man, you’re dreaming. _Gabriel_.”

He gets a panicked snort in response, and then, slowly, Gabriel opens his eyes, blinking like he’s just been blinded by the sun. He reaches up to touch his own cheeks, and his fingers come away damp. He frowns.

“Sam?”

“You were dreaming,” Sam repeats. He doesn’t remove his hand from Gabriel’s shoulder. Now that the guy’s had a shower, he looks and smells a thousand times better. He’s sort of handsome, in a weird way. Not model quality, but he looks like he’s more used to laughing than frowning, and that’s sexy on the right kind of person. Not that he’s saying Gabriel is _sexy_ , but…

“Sorry,” Gabriel says, voice rough from sleep or tears, Sam can’t tell. “I don’t know what happened.”

Sam bites his lip. “You want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

There’s a story here that Gabriel isn’t telling him, and even though Sam’s interested, they’ve only really known each other for…God, for not even a whole day, yet. Which is why it’s so weird that Sam is still touching Gabriel’s shoulder. Something that Gabriel seems to notice as soon as Sam thinks about it, because he’s looking, and smiling a little bit.

“You’re too nice for your own good,” he says, and Sam chuckles.

“My brother says that, too. Here, scoot over.”

“Why?” Gabriel does it anyways, though, and Sam toes off his shoes and drops himself down onto the bed beside Gabriel. He turns the volume back up, just enough for it be a low drone, audible but not intrusive, and then he holds the remote out to Gabriel.

“Here, you choose the channel. It’s all infomercials and reruns this time of night, though.”

Gabriel hesitantly takes the remote, and then begins to flip through channels, not really seeming to see anything on the screen. Sam huffs, letting his head thump back against the wall.

“Make me a deal,” he murmurs, and Gabriel makes a questioning noise. “If you ride with me all the way to Kansas, then you tell me your story, okay? And I’ll tell you mine along the way. It’s probably less interesting, though.”

Gabriel doesn’t take his eyes off the television. “And if I say no?”

Sam shrugs. “That’s your choice. I’m not gonna kick you out of the car or anything. And if you get off before Kansas, that’s your choice, too. But I think people don’t really understand how much help it can be to talk to someone.”

Gabriel mutters something – Sam almost wants to believe that it’s along the lines of wanting to do _more_ than just talk, but it’s so low that he doesn’t catch it (he blushes slightly anyways) – and then restlessly hits his pillow. It’s cheap material, and it conforms to the shape of Gabriel’s fist, but doesn’t pop up again.

And then, louder, but still so soft that Sam almost doesn’t catch it, he says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, fine. If I ride all the way to Kansas to you, I’ll tell you my story. Over beer and burgers.”

Sam snorts. He hasn’t know Gabriel long enough to have a concrete opinion of him, but that sounds like Sam imagines him to be. Milking an opportunity for everything it’s worth. “Sure. Beer and burgers. And you and my brother can argue over whether fries go best with ketchup or vinegar.”

He lets his eyes slide shut. He’s tired, so tired, and they have another long day of driving ahead of them. He expects that Gabriel will hold him to his end of the bargain, demanding to hear Sam’s life story before they reach Kansas, but the thought of dredging up memories of his past isn’t so terrible as it used to be. He guesses it all depends on who you’re talking to. Jessica had heard about his childhood and had assumed he needed to be fixed. Gabriel doesn’t seem to be that kind of person. He’s…mellower, more willing to look at life as a big joke, rather than as a permanent tragedy.

The last thing Sam hears before he drifts off is Gabriel’s disgusted snort, and his soft, “Your brother’s an idiot if he doesn’t appreciate vinegar on fries.”

Yes, it’s definitely going to be an interesting drive.


End file.
